I've Been Schooled

“Your son will never amount to anything.” I don’t know if those were her actual words because I wasn’t in on the conversation. The teacher probably chose more diplomatic words to convey the message. She probably felt it her duty to break the difficult truth to my parents that I wasn’t very bright and prepare them for the reality of dealing with a son doomed to failure in life.

Fortunately my parents didn’t give up on me. They always encouraged me to do my best and provided the discipline I needed to grow. And they moved me on to the next grade in spite of the fact that my report cards were full of U’s to indicate unsatisfactory performance. I failed second grade just like I’d failed first grade and kindergarten.

I didn’t earn any A’s in 6^th grade, but I didn’t mind because my marks had improved to mostly C’s and B’s. The D’s had disappeared. 7^th grade brought more B’s, fewer C’s and a couple A’s. By 8^th grade I was earning solid A’s and B’s with very few C’s. My performance was well above average, but not my self image. I still saw myself as the dumb kid who had to work extra hard to get average grades. I saw smart classmates let their grades slide because they just didn’t do the assigned work. Even though my grades had surpassed theirs I felt inferior to them. The only credit I allowed myself was to acknowledge my wisdom in working hard while they foolishly goofed around.

In high school my mind really blossomed. I had a B+ or two in 9^th grade, a couple A- grades first semester of my 10^th grade year, but by winter of my 10^th grade year I was a straight A student, not even one A-.

In math classes the transformation glowed most clearly. I always understood math conceptually, even in 1^st grade, but I worked tediously slow at every problem. I couldn’t remember math facts at all and had to work everything out. While most of my classmates could spit out their multiplication facts from memory without hesitation or thought, I still added numbers together repeatedly. I could do it in my head now, but I was still slow. Then I took algebra.

In 9^th grade algebra my classmates could not memorize the answers anymore. Algebra requires that you understand the math concepts to solve complex problems. This came naturally to me. While my classmates struggled to solve the same types of problems over and over without ever grasping why it worked, I had moved on to applying the concepts to new types of problems. I loved algebra story problems because they challenged my mind and solving the symbolic problems had become so easy they were boring. I remember sitting in class patiently waiting for the teacher to help the class solve problems I had already finished and checked. To ease my boredom I started racing the teacher in my mind. Without writing anything down I’d work the problem in my head to see if I could beat the teacher and get the correct answer. The vast majority of the time I did.

When we moved on to 10^th grade Geometry I could hardly contain my pleasure. I had no idea the world of math could be so fascinating! The mathematical connections and patterns captivated me and the things you could do with mathematically precise logic resonated in my brain. Proofs were the greatest! I’d look at the given information and the geometry fact I needed to prove, and the logical steps connecting them supported by theorems and postulates would materialize in my mind intuitively. It seemed so obvious to me I couldn’t understand why everyone didn’t see it. The fact that my classmates struggled made me feel gifted for the first time in my life.

This gift brought math to life for me with all the gloriously amazing beauty of a Lake Michigan sunset. My joy of math expanded as I advanced through trigonometry all the way to differential calculus at the USAF Academy.

Even though I couldn’t deny that I had a gift for math, I still viewed myself as intellectually inferior to most of my peers. It took a long time to overcome that negative self image ingrained so deeply during my elementary school years. It’s difficult to reverse a message reinforced for so many years by teasing classmates and condescending teachers.

I think I had mostly good teachers. They did their best, but they are human. They had no idea what was really going on inside my head. My classmates are human too, and some of them revealed the dark side of human behavior.

Children can be very cruel. We’ve all seen it. I suffered from teasing and general disrespect from kids at school. The isolation stung deepest. Shunned by everyone, I spent most of my elementary school days all alone, ignored. No one wanted to interact with me. I played into the role, doing my best to be invisible. When kids did talk to me they were rude and mean, so I avoided interaction.

Even other outcast kids were often mean to each other in an attempt to move up the social ladder. That’s the sad logic of childhood; push yourself up in social standing by putting others down. Unfortunately some people never outgrow that bullying mindset.

I have few memories of ever teasing anyone besides my brother or sister. I think my parents training and the dominant feeling function I inherited in my personality combined to make me naturally averse to bullying. (For readers familiar with personality types you may recall that “feelers” long for harmony and avoid conflict. I’m among the small fraction, about 13%, of people with a dominant feeling function enhance by an introverted, go with the flow attitude so that desire to avoid conflict played a major role in my early childhood development.)

Occasionally I found classmates like myself who were always nice. In second grade I liked a cute, friendly girl, but her popularity made it difficult for me to ever play with her. Occasionally unpopular boys with a strong desire to interact socially would befriend me just because I didn’t insult them. They were usually so odd they made me feel uncomfortable, so I tried to politely avoid them. In 5^th grade I finally made a true friend, but by 8^th grade he was smoking and beginning to experiment with alcohol and illegal drugs so we drifted apart. He still liked me, but his drug using friends wanted nothing to do with me since I wouldn’t join in their risky behaviors.

So I started high school with the stigma of a lonely dumb kid who had no friends even though he was nice to everyone. It didn’t really bother me that people thought I was dumb, because I agreed with them. But my classmates also saw me as wimpy and that bothered me because I knew it was a lie. I lived on a small hobby-farm. We worked hard and played hard. I saw myself as much stronger than my lazy classmates even though I was small for my age.

I actually grew at close to average size through elementary school. I could run faster, jump farther, and climb trees higher than anyone. I had a very athletic younger brother who I had to keep ahead of. Bruce and I wrestled, raced, climbed trees, played baseball, explored the woods, road bicycles, swam in the river, and of course did chores. We were country boys and thanked God for it.

During the middle school years when all the boys in my class started growing like weeds I just continued at the same slow growth rate. By 9^th grade I was only a little bigger than the smallest boy in the Benzie Central class of 1980. That, combined with my shy, passive personality, made other students look down on me as a wimp. I saw myself as an athlete, but I was too small to compete in football or basketball. I did great in Little League Baseball but had given that up the year we got a competitive coach from Detroit who took all the fun out of it. Track appealed to me though because I perceived it as an individual sport of true athletic prowess pitting the athlete against himself to push his (or her) abilities as far as they could go.

So I went out for the track team in the spring of my 9^th grade year. I ran the mile and finished last in every race. I ran so slow the first few runners passed me on the 4^th lap a couple hundred yards before the finish line.

My poor performance puzzled me. I worked harder than most of my team mates but just couldn’t make my body run fast. I figured I must have a genetically disadvantaged cardiovascular system and it would take a lot of work to make it competitive, but I was only a freshman so I determined to stick with running, assuming that I’d steadily get better and become a winning runner eventually. I stuck with running track and cross-country all through high school and never placed high enough to earn even a single point for my team. My times improved enough that I didn’t get lapped in the mile any more. In fact, I didn’t even finish last, but I remained back in the slowest third of runners.

For me, running wasn’t about medals. I always wished I could earn points for the team, but falling short there didn’t make it meaningless. As a distance runner I found satisfaction in finishing the race, improving my time, and knowing I had the endurance to do something most people couldn’t do. Keeping myself physically fit and feeling good also justified the effort. Finally, knowing the extra-curricular activity counted as “leadership experience” gave me another reason to stick with it.

My interest in leadership experience started with a family vacation in the summer of 1977, between my freshman and sophomore years in high school. That summer our family embarked on the most epic road trip of my childhood, camping in our big family tent most of the way. We drove from Michigan through the Upper Peninsula, Wisconsin, South Dakota, Wyoming, Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, and back to Michigan. We stopped in such memorable places as Mount Rushmore, Badlands National Monument, Rocky Mountain National Park, Garden of the Gods, and Pike’s Peak, but the most memorable and life-changing stop for me was the United States Air Force Academy (USAFA) north of Colorado Springs.

Before stopping there I’d heard of West Point but had little idea what it really was. I didn’t know that each branch of our military had elite colleges to educate and train our military leaders. I remember standing near the USAFA Cadet Chapel watching cadets walk across the terrazzo, awestruck that they’d been selected from the best of the best high school graduates to live under such extremely rigorous demands for 4 years in that gloriously beautiful place. My perspective emulated a lowly farm peasant admiring the noble knights of old England. I felt so far removed from the environment I witnessed that it never crossed my mind to even imagine myself as a cadet.

A couple days later we returned to USAFA for church services at the Protestant Cadet Chapel. I marveled at the grand architecture of this towering structure that seemed to reach the sky and draw a little taste of heaven down to this terrestrial space. As I waited in the shinning silvery pew shaped like the leading edge of a jet wing I gazed at the glowing rows of color created by the bright Colorado sky gleaming through the stained glass blocks that reached almost to the peaks of the spires overhead. Tourists like us made up most of the crowd, but there were cadets there too, not a lot because many were away on summer programs and some cadets worshiped at churches of their choosing in Colorado Springs.

The service itself followed a familiar routine of announcements, hymns, responsive readings, and a message from one of the chaplains assigned to serve the cadets. Although the service followed a familiar routine, something quite unfamiliar happened to me as we sang the second hymn. I don’t remember the hymn—just that I’d sung this hymn many times before in other churches—but as I sang the familiar tune following the lyrics printed in the hymnbook I had a vision.

I’m not the type of person to have visions. I’ve never used illegal drugs. I’ve never had a psychotic hallucination. I have a visionary mind that can picture the future, the past, far away places, complex mathematical concepts, etc., but those are deliberate and controlled mental processes. I’m also a daydreamer, but those thoughts are connected by one idea leading to another. I don’t have random visions appear before my eyes—except this once. It’s the only time anything like this has ever happened in my life.

There I was, a 14 year old boy visiting the cadet chapel at the USAF Academy, singing a hymn when for an instant I was transported to a new setting. I was a USAFA Cadet in service dress uniform singing with other cadets and visitors. My family disappeared. I was a cadet, on my own. It only lasted an instant, but it was a very real and memorable instant that totally caught me by surprise. Even though I was a daydreamer who often imagined myself in fantastical places and situations, I hadn’t imagined myself as a cadet. This vision came from nowhere. At least that’s what I thought at the time.

I went on with my day never considering that my little vision might have some meaning or significance. It returned to my thoughts frequently because it was so weird, but I dismissed it as just some rare but natural mental event. Over the coming days and weeks I thought of it less and less frequently but never forgot about it completely.

The next week we drove home and on the way my sister read portions of a USAFA catalog that my parents had picked up. Sharon earned straight-A’s at school. Her grades were near perfect all the way back to kindergarten. She had no interest in high school sports, but she was active in choir, 4-H and church youth group. As she read she realized that she might qualify as one of the nation’s “cream-of-the-crop” students who could gain an appointment to that impressive institution. She would have been among the first women ever admitted. After a few weeks of consideration Sharon decided it wasn’t for her though, and she left the catalog on an end table in our living room.

Reading a college catalog seemed boring to me and I had no fantasies at all that I might some day gain admission to USAFA so I didn’t pick up the catalog. I wasn’t even curious. Then one day as I sat with nothing much to do I picked it up and started flipping through the pages looking at the pictures. That stimulated my curiosity and I started reading. Reading reinforced the impression that USAFA was far out of my league and there was no way I could ever get in, but it also aroused a desire for the first time making me wish I could go there. I felt an excitement that “if I could do that I’d feel great!” kind of like the boy who dreamed of playing major league baseball while knowing he wasn’t that good.

I set the catalog aside with no intention of looking at it again, but it became like a magnet. During my prayer times I sensed God telling me USAFA was my future. I dismissed that as my own wishful thinking, but I began read more of the catalog and think about it more and more. I began to ask God directly’ “Are you telling me to apply to USAFA?” The idea seemed absurd to me, but I believed that “with God, all things are possible” (Matthew 19:26).

One day I remembered the vision that came to me at the cadet chapel. I thought, “That was a sign from God! He really does want me to apply to USAFA and he’s going to get me in. I’m going to be an Air Force Academy Cadet!”

Suddenly I felt confident that it would be. Even though it seemed like a ludicrous long-shot, I knew it was going to happen. Still, I knew the idea sounded so ridiculous that I didn’t tell anyone—not for a few months.

My mom became the first person to receive this news. I still remember her expression when I told her. It only lasted a fraction of a second but she looked stunned. She quickly changed to a more patronizing posture and said, “That’s nice. Do you have an alternate plan if it doesn’t work out?” I could tell my mom was trying to be kind and helpful. In her mind she thought I was dreaming and in her heart she didn’t want to dash my dreams. She just wanted to encourage me to have a realistic back-up plan. I told her going to Michigan State University to study agriculture or forestry appealed to me if I didn’t get into USAFA, but in my heart the MSU backup plan was the one that seemed unrealistic. My sense that the creator of the universe would pave the way for me was that strong. If I did my best he’d do the rest.

The USAFA Catalog said participation in high school sports counted as “leadership experience” so I joined the Benzie Central cross country team that fall at the start of my 10^th grade year. Unfortunately my feet suffered from over training as I jumped from running about 15 miles a week to about 40 miles a week. I asked my coach for accommodation to let the pain heal but he just said something about quitting if I couldn’t take it so I reluctantly gave it up while resolving to get myself in better condition for the spring track season.

I thought participating in a winter sport would improve my fitness and give me more “leadership experience” but I was way to short for basketball. My little 95 pound body put me at a huge disadvantage on the high school basketball court so I decided to try the only other winter sport offered at my school: wrestling. The great thing about wrestling was that it had weight classes so I didn’t need to compete with guys twice my size. The weight classes started at 98 pounds so I didn’t even need to cut weight to get to a smaller class.

To my surprise I found myself a natural at wrestling. I learned the moves quickly and could even improvise, making up some of my own moves. I had excellent balance and speed and great strength for my size. I had a vice like grip that no one seemed to be able to escape from once I got a hold of them. By the middle of my first season I could beat guys bigger than me who’d been wrestling for a couple years. But I didn’t make the varsity squad because Benzie had a state contender at the 98 pound class.

Everyone started to notice a new Roger Deemer during my junior year in high school. I hadn’t really changed much myself, but others did. My long hidden gifts that no one had noticed finally started to shine, but not until later in the school year.

11^th grade started with cross country. I prepared for the long training runs better and made it through the season without injury. I was still the slowest runner on the boy’s team, but I could keep up with some of the other runners for the first mile or so and finished within a minute behind them. I always came in ahead of a few boys from other teams so I never suffered the humiliation of finishing last at a race, though in cross country anyone who can finish the 3 mile run earned some respect. I did suffer some friendly ribbing when Benzie’s fastest girl beat me on a day that I was sick with a fever. I thought I had a recurring “stomach flu” but learned 6 years later that I had Crohn’s disease and my stomach flues were actually inflammatory flair-ups of my intestine.

Even though I didn’t earn points for my team, my teammates accepted me as a runner and compared to the average student in my class I was exceptional. I could out run at least 95% of my classmates. I felt pride in the fitness level I’d achieved and looked forward to having a high level of endurance as I entered wrestling season. I continued to earn straight A’s in my classes so teachers were starting to see me as a scholar athlete, but my classmates didn’t know how good my grades were yet. Most of my classmates didn’t see me as an athlete or a scholar. Everything would change by the end of wrestling season.

I was a couple inches taller and about 15 pounds heavier than the previous wresting season, but I easily cut a few pounds to wrestle at the 105 pound weight class. Even though I’d only wrestled one season I made the varsity team and won most of my matches that year. Now I had a varsity sweater with the athletic “letter” sewn on the front and a couple wrestling medals stitched to the letter. My classmates saw that I possessed some sort of athletic ability.

About the same time word spread of my academic standing. The application process for USAFA started with a “pre-candidate questionnaire” that high school students can submit during their junior year. The questionnaire asked for my current academic ranking so I went to the school counselor asking him to look it up for me. When he found the paper showing academic ranking by grade point average for the class of 1980 he seemed surprised, as if he’d never looked at it before, but then he smiled and showed me that my name was at the top of the list. I said there must be some mistake—I can’t possibly be number one. So he looked closely down the list to confirm that the names appeared in proper order with the highest GPA at the top. After a moment he told me with growing confidence that I ranked number one. I think he was actually pleased with my humility. Most top ranked students know they’re at the top and accept the news with confidence. I may have been the only top ranked student he ever encountered who had trouble believing he was number one.

I left his office filled with doubt. I knew a top ranking would look good on my pre-candidate questionnaire, but I just couldn’t believe it. When I saw one of my classmates that I thought should be above me in the rankings I mentioned to him that I had just been to the counselor’s office and the class ranking list indicated that I had the highest GPA in the class of 1980. His face registered shock and disbelief and I confided with him that I wonder if there could be a mistake. He wasted no time in spreading the news to a few other students who typically get A’s in their classes and they all went to look at the numbers and find out where they stand. A few days later Duane, the boy I’d talked to, stopped to congratulate me, saying it wasn’t a mistake, my GPA stood at the top of the list.

The 11^th grade gossip grapevine spread the news like flames on spilled gasoline and my reputation dramatically transformed. My classmates no longer viewed me as the extremely shy dumb kid. Now I was the quiet genius. That reputation earned me a little respect, but it’s not the kind of reputation that wins dates. I was still small, skinny, shy, and slow—not mentally slow, but everyone remembered seeing me finishing last when I ran the mile in track. The couple of medals on my athletic letter seemed an anomaly to most of my classmates. It just didn’t fit their image of Roger Deemer. Only the small handful of classmates who’d seen me wrestle admired me as an athlete. They witnessed firsthand how my speed, strength, balance, and mastery of moves helped me overpower opponents. People began to treat me very differently as my reputation changed.

I liked the change, but it seemed a little superficial because I hadn’t really changed much inside. I’d always been a kind person, devoted to God and attempting to love my neighbors. I wished people admired me for those character traits, but that’s not in human nature.

Not everything went well my junior year. The USAFA pre-candidate questionnaire also asked for college entrance exam scores. Like most juniors I’d taken the Preliminary Scholastic Aptitude Test (PSAT). I don’t remember my scores, but I think it was at or near the 99^th percentile in math but something like 58^th percentile in English. That means I scored in the top one percent of all students taking the test for math, but was only a little above average in English skills.

When I sent my pre-candidate questionnaire to USAFA they responded with one of those “We’re sorry but” letters informing me that I didn’t meet their minimum requirements for admission because my English PSAT score was too low. I continued as if they’d sent me a congratulations letter though, confident that my score would improve and I’d gain admission somehow. When I took the real college entrance exams (SAT & ACT) I scored well above the minimum standards in all areas—around the 99^th percentile in math and science and 90^th in English.

One boy in my class remarked that I’d really come out of my shell now that we were seniors and I should have done it a long time ago. He had no idea that the turtle-hiding-in-my-shell habits came from 10 years of bullying. When someone smacks you in the head every time you stick it out you tend to withdraw. Neither did he realize that I hadn’t really changed. If he’d treated me respectfully any time during the years that we were classmates I’d have opened up.

I’d always been open to friendship, eager to respond to kindness from others and help them if they needed anything. Since second grade I’d been praying that God would teach me to love everyone. All that time I wanted to show kindness to my classmates, even those who’d been mean to me, but they showed no interest in me or anything I had to offer.

So now that it was socially beneficial to be my friend, classmates discovered that I was actually a nice guy. They thought I’d changed, but it was really the way they treated me that changed. I would have responded the same way years earlier if they’d shown me respect back then. The sad part of this story is that good kids like me are lost in schools all over the world, eager to be a friend if others would simply treat them with respect. Many of them never find the respect they need to “come out of their shells.”

While this social drama unfolded at school I faced bureaucratic drama with the USAFA admissions process. An early hurdle in the process involved passing a physical aptitude exam (PAE) that included chin-ups, push-ups, sit-ups, running, and a kneeling basketball throw. I was not a basketball player. I couldn’t throw a basketball well standing up, even less on my knees. I figured I’d take a hit on the kneeling basketball throw, but my high scores in everything else would weigh in my favor and I’d pass the exam. What I didn’t know was that USAFA had minimum standards for each element of the PAE and if you didn’t meet the minimum you failed no matter how high you scored in the other areas, so I received another “Sorry, you don’t meet minimum qualifications” letter. But they did offer me a chance to retake the test in a couple months.

I started practicing the kneeling basketball throw every day to pass this test. I was already fit and strong; I just needed to develop the coordination to put my strength into heaving a basketball while resting on my knees. With a little practice I nearly doubled my throw distance and felt confident as my rescheduled PAE approached.

The Saturday before the PAE retest I won a wrestling tournament, but hyper-extended my left elbow in one of the matches. As I began turning my opponent toward his back with a half-nelson he twisted around in an unusual position that put so much pressure on my arm I couldn’t release the half-nelson. Fortunately the referee stopped him before I could be seriously injured, but the strain left my elbow very sore.

The good news for my PAE was that I’m right handed so a sore left elbow didn’t hurt my kneeling basketball throw. The bad news was that the pain dramatically reduced my chin-ups and push-ups. After the PAE retest I received another “Sorry, but you failed …” letter and this one offered no opportunity to retest.

Thinking back I’m surprised how calm I was. I had no idea how God would work this out, but I still felt confident that he had things in control. In reality, God not only had matters in control but he was teaching me. The lesson I was about to learn involved friendship.

My wrestling coach wasn’t just an authority figure at school and on the team. He taught and coached with a caring heart. When he heard about my PAE failure he called USAFA and sent them a letter detailing how I was one of his best wrestlers, a specimen of health and fitness. He explained that I could easily exceed all elements of the PAE but only failed due to the timing of my injury, which had already healed by the time they notified me of my results. Coach Papazian came to my aid with all the energy of a wild mama Grizzly defending her cubs. He did all he could for me and I will never forget his passion as he fought to make sure I received fair treatment.

USAFA responded by waiving my PAE requirement. I was back on track—until the end of wrestling season.

As wrestling season progressed I had my heart focused on competing at state finals. I didn’t see myself winning the championship, but I had defeated a wrestler who placed second in the state the year before so I knew I had a shot at placing. Making it there to compete was a reasonable goal.

I took the gold medal at our conference tournament, but at districts I was sick with stomach pain and a mild fever. Another of my recurring Crohn’s disease flair-ups that everyone dismissed as “stomach flu.” I’d been having these episodes for years and would learn to deal with them for the rest of my life.

Weakened by fever and slowed by the pain in my gut I lost a match at districts to a boy I had defeated twice during the regular season. But I still managed to place third, qualifying to continue at regionals.

A few days later my sparing partner twisted my left knee in practice and I felt something pop. It hurt, but not excessively and practice was almost over so I just continued, being careful not to strain it any further. It never crossed my mind that something could be seriously damaged because the pain wasn’t bad—not yet.

The next day at practice during “spinning drills,” a routine exercise in our wrestling warm-up, I felt sharp, stabbing pains in my left knee. It was so intense I couldn’t do this simple but vital move. Coach Papazian noticed my struggle and told me to quit the spinning drills. We were both perplexed by this strange injury that hurt so intensely with certain movements, but not at all with others. He tried wrapping my knee with athletic tape to provide support in the direction that caused the pain but it didn’t seem to help at all.

Two days later at the regional tournament I was still able to win a couple matches, but I lost 2 close matches ending my high school wrestling adventure in heartbreak. One of my losses was to the same wrestler that I’d defeated soundly twice during the regular season. The other match was close enough that I’m sure I could have defeated that wrestler also if I hadn’t been injured. That day I learned that hard work and talent don’t always lead to success. Sometimes life’s circumstances can dash your dreams in spite of your best efforts.

While I sat in the locker room icing my injured knee the first wrestler who beat me came in bawling uncontrollably. I thought something terrible had happened to him so I asked him what happened when he’d settled down enough to talk. He’d simply been defeated and eliminated just like me. The contrast between his emotions and mine startled me. I sat there nursing a painful, injured knee, heartbroken that my high school wrestling had ended this way, but still at peace and thankful for all that I’d experienced and achieved. This boy wasn’t injured, had 2 more wrestling seasons ahead of him, and wouldn’t even have made it to regionals if I hadn’t been sick at districts, but he was out of control with grief and anger, bawling and slamming things around in the locker room. I shared a few friendly words with him, encouraging him to look forward to his next year. When I told him I was a senior and this was the end for me he showed no sympathy for me but seemed encouraged by the reminder that he had more opportunity in his future.

My experiences that day reinforced some of the life philosophies I’d already adopted. Work hard at everything, always doing your best. Have goals and dreams, but keep in mind that life is unpredictable. You never know how things will turn out. Be thankful for everything good and roll with the punches when things don’t go your way. Trust God; treasure peace in your heart, and strive to be at peace with everyone else.

A few of my teammates qualified for state finals. As they went on to compete I went to the hospital for surgery to try tying my knee back together. The doctor said I had 2 completely severed ligaments and some torn cartilage, but there was a procedure that he’d performed numerous times before moving some tendons across the side of the knee to stabilize it. He put me on an accelerated recovery program, assuring me I’d be ready for basic training at USAFA if I followed his instructions and worked hard at my rehabilitation once the cast came off.

Shortly after I came home with my leg in a cast I received a letter from USAFA congratulating me and offering me an appointment. Of course I accepted and returned the enclosed acceptance form immediately, but it seemed ironic that I was laid up in a cast. The county newspaper interviewed me and took a picture of me in my letter-sweater with all my medals. They ran it on the front page making me feel like a local hero!

I had already passed my medical physical for military service, but wondered if I should notify USAFA of my injury and surgery. I didn’t have to wonder long. I soon received a letter and form from the DoDMERB (Department of Defense Medical Examination Review Board) asking me to report anything that might affect my medical status that had happened since my physical. When they received the form they wasted no time at all responding with a “Thank you, but…” letter, my fourth such letter. The letter said my injury medically disqualified me form entering USAFA because people with this type of injury don’t do well.

I was still at peace. I admit I had some doubts, wondering if God really wanted me at the USAF Academy, but my hopes were still alive. I knew he could still get me there if he wanted to. I remained calm, wondering what to do, but my dad, doctor, and wrestling coach were all on fire over the news. They made phone calls and sent letters to the DoDMERB assuring them that they were mistaken in my case. My orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Herr, responded with passionate persistence. He had assured me that he’d get me ready and he was angry that the DoDMERB doctors wouldn’t even give me a chance. Not only was his word and professional reputation on the line, but he’d grown fond of me as one of the best patients he’d ever had. He was impressed with my strength and determination as well as my calm and courteous personality.

The passionate appeals from my dad and coach may have helped some, but it was the persistent professional communications from Dr. Herr that drove the DoDMERB to review my case again. On Thursday, June 17^th, just 4 days before basic training was to start, I came in our house out of breath from running 3 miles in 21 minutes. I was disappointed because I’d hoped to be close to 19 minutes. Dad was on the phone and he motioned me over. Handing me the receiver he told me the USAFA DoDMERB wanted to talk to me.

The board was actually in session with me on speakerphone. I was embarrassed because I was still breathing hard and I had to tell them that I could only run three miles in 21 minutes. I felt defeated because in my eyes that was a failure. The phone sat silent and the long pause made me nervous. I think they had me on mute while they discussed what I’d just said. When the board chairman finally responded I wasn’t sure how to take his question. He wanted confirmation that I’d just run 3 miles, but he showed no concern about my time. Still worried that they might think I wasn’t fast enough I apologetically assured them that I was improving fast and could be down around 19 minutes in a few weeks. I don’t remember exactly how the conversation went from there. I only remember my shock in realizing that they were having trouble believing that I could actually run 3 miles in 21 minutes. That would be fast enough for them even if I’d never had surgery.

After another long silence with me on mute the doctor returned to tell me that they wanted to examine me in person. He instructed me to report to USAFA on June 21 ready to begin training, but that I wouldn’t be admitted until he’d examined me personally.

Finding myself wanting to attend a high school dance, the prom no less, with an attractive girl who actually seemed happy to go with me, was shockingly strange considering my past, but the real shock came during the prom itself. I expected to be mostly an observer at the fringes of activity during the prom, but I ended up drawn into the center of attention. When I arrived I looked for a quiet place to sit near a wall or corner, but immediately classmates greeted me, drawing me into the crowd as we talked. Someone invited Lisa and me to join their table near the dance floor, and being the friendly, courteous natured boy that I was, I had to accept. I remember feeling real good about being a part of my class, included in the social interaction. I wasn’t the center of attention, just included instead of relegated to the invisible observer on the fringe where I’d spent my life. But that, too, was about to change.

Soon the members of the junior class prom committee asked for everyone’s attention so they could introduce the band and make some announcements. After a few minor announcements and thank-yous to people who worked hard to make the prom happen, they announced the King and Queen of the Prom. When I heard my name I just sat there in disbelief. Lisa and the classmates at my table had to tell me to get out there on the dance floor and accept the honor of being chosen King of the Prom!

Being prom king thrilled me and finally put an end to my feeling like the invisible classmate that no one paid any attention to. A few weeks later I delivered my graduation speech and received recognition as valedictorian at graduation. Dad gave me his car keys and let me go to graduation parties the evening of graduation and everywhere I went people were happy to see me, thanking me for my touching speech. Several guys made a point of seeking me out for private confession where they told me they should have been more like me—that I’d made the right decisions in high school. They were some of the guys who thought they were being cool or having fun with drugs, sex, tobacco, and alcohol—the same guys who used to ridicule me whenever they could.

I always treated them respectfully anyway, keeping my opinions that they were making foolish choices to myself. They would have only derided me in anger if I’d tried to warn them of the consequences they’d be facing for their actions. I think it was because I never criticized them openly or treated them with any disrespect that they now felt compelled to show respect for the wise choices I’d made and admit to me that they were mistaken.

Less than 3 weeks later I was in-processing at the USAF Academy. I’d had my hair cropped off, been taught how to stand at attention and talk to upper class cadets, filled out dozens of bureaucratic forms, and been issued several laundry bags full of gear. As I stood in yet another line with my combat boots slung over my shoulder by the laces, an upper class cadet pulled me out of line and led me to the cadet medical clinic. I perceived clearly that this was something unusual, but I didn’t figure out what was going on until I met an officer in an examination room and he introduced himself as an orthopedic surgeon and member of the DoDMERB. I’d arrived for my personal examination to see if my knee was really fit for USAFA’s basic training.

The doctor had me go through a series of movements with and without resistance to test the motion and strength of my knee. He measured my legs with a tape measure and pushed and pulled at various angles. Finally he looked me gravely in they eyes and said my doctor performed an amazing job on my knee. He’d never seen such a good repair for such serious injuries and such a rapid recovery afterward. He said he was going to approve my entry into basic training, but that I needed to report any pain, weakness, or other symptoms of trouble in my knee immediately.